Look At Me
by honeyMellon
Summary: He doesn't look at people. Not at the busty chick sitting across from him. Not at that red-haired dude with the crazy tattoos. Not at me. It pisses me off. I want him to look at me. PWP one shot lemon.


**This is one of those stories that kind of wrote itself, like that Urahara x Uryuu story that I wrote a while back, Heal Me. I wasn't planning on writing this at all. It just…sort of…**_**happened.**_

**It's my first time writing in first-person POV and in present tense. Thought I'd try something new. It's also the first time I used a certain word. I wonder if anyone will notice it and know what word I'm referring to. ;)**

* * *

He fidgets in his seat. His eyes are a warm brown, but they're always narrowed because he frowns so much. I don't think I've ever seen him with any other expression on his face.

He's a bit of an enigma to me. He doesn't look at people. Not at the hot chick sitting across from him, whose boobs look like they're about to fall out any minute now. Not at the red-haired dude with crazy tattoos standing right in front of him.

Not at _me_.

I don't know why, but that pisses me off. It's not that I'm a narcissist. I mean, I know I'm pretty damn good looking, but...okay, I'm a narcissist. People look at me like they want me to eat them up; men and women both.

I'll be honest for a change and admit that I like to be looked at. Makes me feel like a fine piece of art, you know? Like a revered marble statue of some Greek god. I bet some people wish that I'd be just like those statues and not wear a damn thing.

But not him. Not that little punk with his beacon-like orange hair.

I know he knows that I'm staring at him. I'm not the most subtle man on the planet. I stare, very openly. Yet he ignores me. Most people would've stared back, or even confront me.

The little shit does neither. He just shifts his weight in the hard plastic chair. I don't blame him, subway trains aren't known for having comfortable seats.

He's ignoring me, and that's really, really pissing me off.

I see him everyday, so I get pissed everyday. Still, I make sure that I stand close to him everyday, always within his eyesight.

The train comes to a stop. It's not my station. It's his. He stands up and slings his bag over a shoulder and heads for the door.

Right at that minute, I realize what I want to do.

I'm going to be bold. Real bold.

I let go of the handrail and manage to slip out of the door right as it slides shut. I scan the crowd, looking for that unmistakable shade of orange.

It's not that hard. I mean, how many people have such an obnoxiously loud hair color, right?

Well, except me, I suppose. But mine's different. Blue is much more soothing to the eyes.

I zero in on the back of his head and push my way towards him, ignoring the dirty looks people shoot at me. I don't give a shit; most people end up gawking at my looks anyway. I'm not a fashion model for nothing.

I follow the kid. He's walking briskly, like he's in a hurry to go somewhere. That doesn't bother me. I just walk faster. I'm not going to lose his trail.

The subway station isn't all that large. We're about to reach the escalators. I can't have that; it'll be harder to follow him once we go up to the surface. So I speed up, almost jogging behind him now. I don't know if he knows that he's being followed. He doesn't turn back and doesn't react like he knows.

That's fine with me.

I quicken my pace and finally come up directly behind him. I grin and reach out to grab his arm.

He freezes.

All around us, people ignore us. You know how it is with big cities. People don't want to get involved in weird business. I'm tall, my shoulders broad, my arms strong and muscular. I look like I mean business, especially when I have this maniacal smile on my face.

The kid hasn't moved since I touched him. It's funny, because I'm not even holding him that tightly. I feel him tremble in my grip. I wonder if he's afraid.

"Hey," I say, intentionally lowering my voice so that it sounds deeper and huskier than it usually is.

He turns around slowly, and I suck in a sharp breath. His eyes threaten to bore into my skull. He doesn't look angry, but there's a burning intensity in those honey-colored eyes.

He's finally looking at me.

And _damn_, I don't want him to ever stop looking at me.

As we continue to stare at each other, I notice the delicate dusting of pink on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. He has perfect skin. His lips are slightly parted, I can hear him breathing through his mouth. He's still shaking, I can feel it.

No, he's not afraid.

I think I know why he won't look at me.

"You like me, don'tcha?" I ask shamelessly.

The boy looks shocked. His jaw falls slack in a comical way, and he just stares at me like I just sprouted another head. The tint on his cheeks darken and spread.

Yeah. He likes me alright. He likes me so much he daren't even look at me.

"Follow me," I pull him closer and whisper in his ear.

I feel him shudder. I know I have him now. I let go of his hand, and sure enough, he stays by my side. I lead him up the escalator.

"Where are we going?" He opens his mouth for the first time.

I'm surprised. His voice is deep, but he sounds so young. For a moment, I feel like a paedophile, but then I look at his adam's apple and his lanky figure and scoff at my own stupidity.

"Somewhere nice," I answer simply.

I see him pout out of the corner of my eye. No, not really a pout. More like a cross between a pout and a scowl. Something like that. It makes me laugh.

I take his wrist again and pull him along as we walk. I know where I want to go. I lead him into the first hotel I see, and I go straight to the front desk.

"One room," I say with a wink.

The girl on the other side of the desk blushed. She asks for my name and all that crap, and I pull out my wallet and give her my ID. I don't know why it takes her so fucking long, but finally, we have the key cards to our room.

By this point, I think the kid knows what I have in mind. Judging from the way he's still following behind me, I think he approves.

The lock flashes green when I swipe the key card, and I push the door open roughly. Without a word, I yank him into the room and close the door. Then it's just me and him.

He's looking right at me.

And I look right back at him. He has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.

"I'm Grimmjow," I tell him.

He pants lightly. "Ichigo."

"Hi, Ichigo," I say.

I let go of his wrist and trail my fingers up his arm. His eyes slide close, his dark lashes flutter and rest on his cheeks. I hear his breath quicken. I press myself up against his body and place my other hand on his hip. A soft moan escapes from his lips. Those supple, full lips that look like they're made to be kissed.

So I did just that. I bend down, making up for our height difference, and flick my tongue along his lower lip. I receive another moan in response. I close the distance and crush our lips together firmly. I cup his cheek with one hand and keep the other hand on his hip. I rub little circles on his hip bone with my thumb.

I coax his lips apart and slip my tongue inside. His mouth is burning hot; so wet, so welcoming. He groans, the sound traveling straight to my crotch, and I feel myself twitch.

That reminds me. Bed. There's a bed in here. I didn't just pay a hundred bucks for a room only to fuck him against a wall. I lift him up, surprising him. He gasps and struggles a bit before realizing what I'm doing, and when he does, he stops moving.

I drop him on the bed and push him onto his back. I stare down at him. Up close, his eyes are even prettier. Such a rich caramel-brown hue, with specks of gold here and there. His pupils are dilated. I like that.

I crawl over him and lean down to claim his mouth again. He tastes a little bit like mint. I suck on his lower lip and let my teeth graze his skin. It got me the desired effect: I feel him shiver beneath me. He shifts his weight a bit, then the next thing I know, he's grinding up against me.

I hiss in surprise, breaking the kiss. I can feel the hard bulge in his pants. I pull away slightly and we both scramble for our zippers. I nearly laugh out loud. He's wearing a pair of tighty whities. He glares at me, the gold flakes in his eyes flashing like a flame.

I step out of my jeans and help him out of his. Unbelievable. I'm the fashion model here but the kid's wearing a pair of jeans so tight that even I don't feel comfortable wearing.

As soon as we're naked, I straddle his hips and pin him against the mattress. He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling like he has just finished sprinting a hundred meters. His cheeks are even redder now.

I lick his lips, then I move to his jaw, peppering a trail of light kisses down his neck until I come to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. There, I bite.

He cries out and bucks beneath me, but his pained cry turns into a whimper when I begin to suck on the bruised skin. He shivers again, and I feel his hands all over me. I don't know what he's looking for, but he's touching my face, my chest, my arms. It feels good.

I crawl backwards and continue to kiss down his chest, his abdomen, then I stop. I smirk when the kid lets slip a whine. He clutches the sheets on his sides, his knuckles turning white. I can tell—and see—that he's very excited. His cock is straining, red and hard against his lower abdomen.

I flick out my tongue and lick the head. He immediately bucks his hips. He sounds like he's choking on something. I know what he's silently begging for, and I decide to oblige. I close my fingers around his length and took him into my mouth. His skin is so hot that it feels as if it could burn me, yet it's so smooth and slick against my tongue. I hollow my cheeks and suck, grinning when I feel fingers digging into my hair.

The kid is fucking vocal. He's moaning non stop, needy and desperate. Apparently, I'm doing a damn good job. I feel him throb in my mouth and I immediately pull back. The effect is instant: he thrust his hips upwards, narrowly missing my nose. He yells out in frustration. I have no idea what he said.

But if I'm reading his eyes correctly, I think he hates me.

I ignore his heated glare and scoot back up so that I am once again grinding myself against his cock. He grabs my thighs and squeezes until I grunt out in pain.

Okay. I get his message.

I nudge his legs apart with my knee, and he complies. I'm about to spit into my palm before I remember that we're in a hotel. I crawl over him and reach for the bedside table. I grab the tiny little bottle of hand lotion there, compliments of the hotel, and turn back to him.

He looks at me like he's going to kill me if I don't hurry up.

So I hurry up. I slick up my fingers with the lotion and push one into him, not bothering with being gentle. If his ass hurts tomorrow he can blame himself for being so damn impatient. One finger quickly lead to two, and by three, his nails are digging into my arm so hard that it's starting to draw blood.

Cursing under my breath, I lift his legs over the crook of my elbows and line myself up. I search his face for those beautiful eyes, but they're closed.

"Look at me," I tell him.

He cracks his eyes open and looks at me from under his thick fan of lashes. Satisfied that I have his full attention, I push forward and feel myself engulfed in a tight, fiery embrace. His mouth falls open and his eyes disappear again. But this time I let it slide, because I can't keep mine open either.

I rock in and out of him, burying myself deeper into him with each thrust. Every time I pull out it feels like he doesn't want to let me go. He moans in sync with the movement of my hip, and I can't help but groan back. It's like we're having a fucking conversation.

I can't believe this is the same kid who refuses to meet my eyes on the train.

"Grimm!" he cries out suddenly, and then his muscles clamp down on my cock without warning.

I've been so wrapped up in my own pleasure that I haven't even noticed that he's so close to the edge. His body arches off the bed. I hold his hips in place and pick up my pace, pounding into him as he drowns himself in bliss. I reach my own peak soon after, pulsing and spilling myself inside the hot and willing body beneath me. I don't know if he can feel it. He looks like he has passed out.

After my heart stops feeling like it's going to jump out of my throat, I collapse next to him. I look at his face. His cheeks look like they're on fire. I never knew that humans can blush so much. His lips are red and swollen, thanks to me. His eyes are closed.

Then they suddenly fly open. Those eyes. Dark and lustful and such a warm, enticing brown.

Shit, I never want him to stop looking at me.

* * *

**The End. :)**

**I know, totally random, haha! Phew, breaking a habit is hard. I kept having to go back to correct the past tense that I accidentally put in. **

**Like? No like?**

**Update: Nicole4211 wrote a companion fic for this, titled "Look at me, twisted" that tells the story from Ichigo's POV. It's absolutely brilliant I tell you! Do check it out if you like this story! I can't tell you how much I like hers!**


End file.
